Page 66 of Ren: Warlord Brides
“Tingles, mostly. I do not notice.”
“Well, I think it’s very attractive.”
He cupped her face. A thumb rubbed against her bottom lip. “My mate is the loveliest sight I ever beheld.”
Emry looked away. She didn’t know what to do with that. It was easier to focus on the fastener of his trousers. She undid the first fastener, watching him for any sign of reluctance.
His hand covered hers. “I am not like Terran males,” he said.
“I watched an educational video, remember. There were diagrams. I will not freak out.” Rolusdreusian dicks weren’t that weird. They had extra features, sure, but it was still a shaft that went into a sheath. It didn’t have tentacles or lay eggs.
“Then you are an expert.” He removed his hand, amusement in his voice.
She opened his trousers and his cock sprang out. Thick and dark red, nearly purple, it seemed too big. Way too thick.
And spikey.
Like, she knew about the flexible spines that clustered under the head and ran along the shaft, but she didn’tknow.
“Wow. The diagrams did not prepare me to see this in person,” she said.
Ren
He did not want his mate to be afraid, so he fisted his cock and ran a hand along the length.
“The spines will bend. They will not harm you,” he said. The spines did just that as he stroked himself.
She licked her lips. “Can I try that? Touch you?”
“You may always touch me.”
Her hand wrapped around the base, firm but not too hard, and stroked up.
He sighed with pleasure and his head lolled back against the seat. His entire being was focused on the sensation of her touch, her fingers, and the way her breath quickened.
“Here.” He motioned for her to straddle his lap.
Her knees landed on either side of his thighs. She rocked her hips, brushing lusciously damp curls against him.
He positioned himself at her entrance. “Slowly,” he said, as she sank onto him.
Her cunt was tight and hot. So, so hot. It gripped him and took all he had not to buck up, driving deep into her. Her fingers clutched at the fabric of his tank.
With one hand on her back, he held her against him. The other stroked her hair. Cradled thus, she worked herself up and down his length. His tattoos glowed brighter than he had ever seen. His tail thumped the cushions next to him.
“I can feel them,” she moaned, face buried against his chest.
Tension coiled inside him, needing release. Unable to hold back, he flipped their position so Emmarae was on her back.
He dove into her, pumping hard. Her thighs tightened around his hips. She gripped the armrest to brace herself; even the motion of his frantic pumping shoved her against it. Her wonderfully soft body moved with him, giving and always inviting more. Resilient. A survivor. The scars rubbed against him, a testament to the spirit burning inside her.
He needed more. He’d never have enough of his mate.
Emmarae chanted his name, repeating yes and more and harder, thenjust like that. She tensed around him, her legs and her core.
Coiled tension released, shooting up his spine and along every nerve in his body. He released deep inside, filling her with his seed. His mate.
His.
